


catch me, I'm falling

by themetaphorgirl



Series: Patron Saint of Lost Causes [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alex Blake is a queen, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Gen, Hotch is a dad, Hurt/Comfort, Patron Saint of Lost Causes, Sickfic, Spencer Reid Gets a Hug, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Whump, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphorgirl/pseuds/themetaphorgirl
Summary: Spencer overhears the older kids talking and thinks they're talking about him. Heartbroken, he resolves to stay out of everybody's way so they won't think he's a burden anymore. But he manages to catch the stomach bug that's been going around, and despite his best efforts he can't manage on his own.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Alex Blake & Spencer Reid
Series: Patron Saint of Lost Causes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935463
Comments: 34
Kudos: 315





	catch me, I'm falling

**Author's Note:**

> part of the Patron Saint of Lost Causes verse

Hotch dragged his hands over his face. "I just don't know what I'm going to do," he said, his elbows resting on his knees. "I mean, there were a lot of things I was prepared for when I applied to be an RA, but being a perpetual babysitter wasn't in the job description."

"Have you talked to Gideon?" Dave suggested.

"Yeah, but he wasn't much help," Hotch said. "He seems to think it's something I can handle on my own."

"He does that to you a lot, doesn't he?" James said. Hotch shrugged. "Listen, you're doing your best with him. And we'll help as much as we can, you know that."

"I know," Hotch said. "But...none of this should be our responsibility in the first place. Why can't his parents do anything about it? We shouldn't have to take care of him."

Alex rubbed his back lightly. "Well, you're stuck with him now, and you can't exactly just shove him off for somebody else to take care of, I guess," she said. "We'll just have to make the best of it, I suppose." She sighed heavily. "I'll do what I can too. I can't stand him, but I'll do it."

Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Hotch frowned briefly, but he had bigger things to worry about. "I can't stand Joey Turner either, but I can't let him get kicked out of school when all he has to do is get his grades up and avoid getting detention for the rest of the quarter," he said. He groaned, raking his hand through his hair. "It's just going to be a huge pain."

* * *

Spencer slammed the door to his room, his breath catching in his throat. He should have known. He should have seen this coming. Of course he was just a burden on them. Of course they had better things to do than babysit him all the time.

He leaned against the door and pressed his hand over his mouth. Hotch didn't want to take care of him. Alex couldn't stand him. And James and Dave just seemed to agree. What did the others think? The same, probably.

He sank down to the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, tears smarting behind his eyes. But this was the last night he could do this. Being a crybaby would only make things worse.

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. It didn't matter. He'd done this before, and he could do it again. He could take care of himself. The others didn't need to worry about him anymore.

Someone knocked lightly and he scrambled to his feet as the door cracked open. "Hey, it's just about dinner time," Hotch said. "You ready to go?"

He pulled at the hem of his cardigan. "No, I...I'm not hungry," he said.

Hotch frowned. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," he said. "Don't...don't worry about me."

If Hotch noticed the tremble in his lower lip, he didn't react. "Well, let me know if you change your mind, I'll bring something back for you, okay?" he said.

"You don't have to do that, I'm fine," Spencer said, his voice a bit more steady. "But thank you."

Hotch shrugged and closed the door behind him. Spencer's shoulders sagged. He didn't want things to go back to the way they were before, but he didn't really have a choice, did he?

* * *

Alex nudged the textbook back in place. "You're almost done," she said. "Can you just... _please_ put your phone down for a second?"

"Huh," Joey Turner said absently.

She resisted the urge to smack him upside the head. Hotch was doing everything he could to help this kid, she was keeping an eye on him every afternoon during her library shifts to make sure he was getting his homework done, and still he seemed perfectly willing to sit back and let their hard work go to waste.

"Can I just go?" he asked.

Alex rubbed her temples. "Sure, why not?" she said. Joey scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair in the process, and ran out of the library with his books heaped in his arms.

She shrieked through her teeth in frustration and pantomimed throttling him. At least the quarter was almost over, and Joey Turner would be out of their hands, and things could go back to normal.

She checked her watch and frowned. Her shift was almost over, but Spencer still hadn't come by. It was so strange. He always came to the library when she was working- finishing his homework at the table, following her around like a duckling and helping her shelve books while he prattled, dozing off on the couch or the windowseat where he knew she could safely watch him. But he hadn't come by once in two weeks.

She needed to check in with Hotch. It seemed like overnight Spencer had gone from happy and talkative to silent and withdrawn. He wasn't eating much at meals, and if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication he wasn't sleeping either. And he'd missed two movie nights in a row. First he'd said he had a paper to work on, and then he said he had a headache. But when she tried to check on him, he insisted it wasn't that bad and he just wanted to go to sleep, and he'd locked the door on her.

She checked her watch again and glanced around. The library had emptied out, and it was time to lock up. She went through the steps to close and locked the door behind her, and nearly knocked over a small figure hovering in the hallway.

"Spencer!" she said, surprised. "I didn't know you were out there."

"I was just walking by," he stammered.

That was a lie. The library was tucked out of the way, in the oldest part of the main building. There wouldn't be any other reason for him to come out here.

"I've missed seeing you in the library, sweetheart," she said. "It's been a while. Are you doing okay?"

He raised and lowered one shoulder. "Just busy," he said.

This was another lie. He wasn't busy. Come to think of it, she hadn't even seen him with a book in his hand in at least a couple of days.

"I was going to go get some coffee," she said. She held out her hand to him. "Do you want to come with me?"

To her surprise, he looked like he was about to cry. "No, thanks," he said quietly. "I don't want any."

Before she could say anything else, he darted off down the hall, his old backpack- the one they'd replaced for him ages ago- bouncing on his shoulders. She stared after him in shock and her hand fell back to her side.

* * *

Spencer's chest ached as he climbed the seven flights of stairs to his room. He couldn't catch a deep breath, maybe his lack of sleep over the past few weeks was finally catching up with him.

He wished he'd been able to take Alex's hand when she offered it. He wished he could tell her that he felt awful, that he couldn't think straight, that whatever he'd done he was sorry. He wished he could cuddle up on her lap and drop his head to her shoulder and let her squeeze him tight until he didn't feel like he was sinking in quicksand anymore.

But she didn't care about him, not like he thought.

He didn't think it would matter so much. He'd spent the first ten years of his life figuring out how to take care of himself. Even when his father was home, he wasn't interested in spending time with him. And when it was just him and his mother, his mother needed to be cared for more than he did. He hadn't realized what he was missing until he had the opportunity to know what it was like.

Spencer unlocked his door and dropped his backpack on his desk. He'd put away the nice new messenger bag they'd gotten him- the new shoes, the new clothes, all the things they'd gotten him. He wasn't sure what to do with them yet; everything was stashed away under the bed or in the closet. But he didn't want to use any of their gifts. They probably wanted them back.

He kicked off his school shoes and crawled onto his bed. He was so cold, but he didn't have the energy to move the covers. So instead he curled himself into a tight little ball, his arms wrapped around himself, trying to stifle the stomachache that had plagued him all week. He wanted to cry, but that would only make things worse. Maybe he could just fall asleep, and try again tomorrow.

He was trying so hard to be good. He didn't annoy everyone with his talking, and he didn't pester Alex while she was working in the library, and he kept his room clean (Derek's side too) and he helped Emily with her homework.

He just had to be good. He had to be well-behaved, and stay out of everyone's way, and take care of himself, and in time everything would blow over, and instead of being frustrated and upset, they would just forget about him. Like everybody did.

* * *

Hotch bit back a yawn. He was exhausted. There was some kind of stomach bug going around on his floor and he'd had to ship several of the kids on his floor off to the infirmary. Plus, he was still trying to convince Joey Turner to shape up and fly right, and plus, he was supposed to spend Friday at an academics seminar. He wasn't looking forward to any of these things.

He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until Alex dropped her bag on the floor with a thump and dropped down beside him on the couch. "You know you don't live here, right?" he mumbled sleepily.

"I don't care. Where's Spencer?"

He blinked and sat up. "I thought he was in the library with you," he said.

"He hasn't come to the library in a couple of weeks," she said.

Hotch rubbed his eyes. "Are you serious?" he said. "I haven't seen him around, I just thought he was with you."

Alex shook her head. "I think there's something wrong," she said quietly, tucking her legs underneath her. "He hasn't been eating, and I don't think he's been sleeping either."

"Yeah, I've noticed the eating," Hotch said. "I'll ask Derek and see if he's noticed him having trouble sleeping." He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "He's been really quiet, too. That's not like him either."

"What do you think is wrong?" Alex asked. "Do you think he got some bad news from home? Or a bad grade?"

"I don't know," Hotch said. "Jesus. I've been so distracted with everything that's going on, and the whole Joey Turner situation. I didn't even notice." He sighed. "I'll try to talk to him tomorrow."

"There won't be time tomorrow," Alex said. "Not until after the seminar tomorrow, and we probably won't be back until dinner. Maybe you should try to talk to him tonight."

He checked his phone. "It's later than I thought," he said. "I'll go to his room last for bedchecks and see if I can get him to talk."

"It's that late?" Alex said. "Shit, I need to get back to Roosevelt or I'll get murdered." She straightened up and grabbed her bag. "Please text me if you find out what's wrong, though? And when we get back tomorrow I'll sit him down. Maybe he just needs a little love and attention and he'll be back to his normal self."

"Yeah, maybe," Hotch said. She patted his shoulder on the way out, but he stayed where he was for a while. To tell the truth he hadn't noticed anything completely out of place with Spencer- it was his own fault for getting so distracted. Hopefully there wasn't anything seriously wrong.

* * *

Spencer jerked out of his shallow sleep as the door banged open. "Sorry!" Derek said, rummaging through his drawers. "I was about to leave and realized I forgot some of my stuff."

His head felt so thick and hazy, like he'd been held underwater. "Leave?" he mumbled blearily.

"Yeah, dude, we have an away game tomorrow, they're making us drive in tonight," Derek said. "Don't worry, I'll be out of here in a second and you can go back to sleep."

Spencer forced himself to sit up. The room spun around him, and the nausea he'd been fighting off the past day or threatened to choke him. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Not sure, but if Hotch hasn't come by for bedchecks yet, he'll be here soon," Derek said. He straightened up, then paused. "Dude. Are you okay? You look like shit." He frowned. "And you fell asleep in your uniform."

"I'm fine," Spencer said. "I just...dozed off."

He hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep. His blazer felt like it was strangling him, but he couldn't quite get his hands to cooperate and unfasten the buttons. He wanted to put on his pajamas, but he didn't think he could manage it. Not that he could wear his pajamas anymore, those were gifts too.

There was a light knock on the door and Hotch stuck his head in the room. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked. He tilted his head. "Derek, don't you have a bus to catch?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going, I'm going," Derek said. "See you guys later, fingers crossed we win!"

Hotch leaned away from the door far enough for Derek to dart past him. "Spencer, are you doing okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," he said. He forced himself to slide off the bed even though his arms shook. "I'm just going to go to sleep."

"It's still a little early," Hotch said. "You look pale. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm always pale, I sit inside and read all the time," he snapped. He paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I'm sorry."

Hotch frowned. "You're fine, you don't have to apologize," he said. He closed the door behind him. "Spencer, is there something bothering you? Alex and I were talking, and she said she was worried about you."

A stabbing little pain ran through his heart. "You don't need to worry about me," he said. "I can take care of myself." He cleared his throat. "Can I go? I need to brush my teeth before I go to bed."

Hotch seemed...hurt, somehow, his mouth drawing down. "Sure," he said. "But we're going to talk tomorrow when we get back- you, me, and Alex. All right?"

"All right," Spencer echoed. He could get out of it, he'd figure out something to keep them from talking. It was bad enough to think of what they really thought of him- he didn't want to give them the chance to say it in person. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Spencer," Hotch said, letting him slip past him into the hallway.

Spencer trailed his hand along the wall as he walked to the bathroom. The paint was too ridged under his fingers, the carpet was too thick under his socked feet. And in the bathroom the lights were bright white and burning, making his eyes water.

He slipped into a bathroom stall and latched the door. His stomach twisted up tight, tight enough that he couldn't breathe for a second, and for a moment he considered running after Hotch. But that wouldn't do him any good. He just needed to go sleep it off, and he'd be fine in the morning, and by the time they got back from their seminar they'd forget that they needed to talk to him. He could fade into the background again.

* * *

Hotch jerked awake. He wasn't sure why, though. The whole floor was silent, and when he checked his phone he hadn't missed any notifications. He dragged his hand over his face. It was two in the morning, and it was supposed to be a busy day, and the last thing he needed was to wake up for no reason.

But he could sense a presence in his room, like someone was staring at him. _Ghost_ , his half-asleep brain supplied helpfully. But he'd never been one to believe that St. Thaddeus was haunted, like everyone else seemed to think, so a ghost standing in his room didn't seem terribly likely.

Now that he was slightly more awake, he could see faint light from the hallway streaming through the cracked door, and a tiny figure hovering in the doorway. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Sean?" he said sleepily. But no, it couldn't be Sean, he was miles away from here. He rubbed his eyes. "Spencer?"

"I'm sorry to wake you up," Spencer whispered, clinging to the doorway. "I, um...I threw up. But...but, it's fine. Never mind. I'll...I can take care of it."

He disappeared. "Okay," Hotch yawned, his jaw popping. He laid back down and pulled his blankets back up around his shoulders, getting comfortable again.

After a moment, the words clicked, and he threw his covers back. "Oh, shit," he mumbled to himself as he walked down the hall. "Shit, fuck, shit..."

Spencer had left his door cracked, thankfully, and he opened it up to find the kid huddled on top of his bed, the covers still made neatly. Hotch turned on the lights and Spencer flinched. He was dressed in an oversized tee shirt, one of the few items he brough with him from Las Vegas, and shorts, and his short hair was wildly mussed. "What's going on?" Hotch asked.

"Nothing," Spencer croaked. "I'm...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woken you up."

Hotch knelt down beside him and swept his hair back from his forehead. "How many times have you thrown up?" he asked.

"Just...just once," Spencer said. "And I made it to the bathroom, so...it's not that bad. You can go back to bed, it's okay."

"You might have the stomach bug that's been going around," Hotch said. "I can take you to the infirmary."

Spencer shook his head. "Everyone else has had a fever and a headache, so it's not, it's not the same thing," he said. "This is probably just something I ate." He rubbed his eyes. "I already got some water and brushed my teeth."

Hotch's eyes narrowed. The kid hadn't even gone to dinner, much less eaten anything, but this didn't seem to be the time to argue with him. "Let's get you back into bed, at least," he said. "C'mon, let's get you under the covers."

"No!" Spencer protested. He pushed himself up, clutching at the neckline of his shirt. "I can't. I can't. You guys got them for me, I can't use them."

Hotch touched the back of his hand to Spencer's forehead. "You are running a fever," he said. "No wonder you're not making any sense."

Luckily, no matter his protests, Spencer was barely ten and small for his age, so it didn't take much for Hotch to move him around and pull back the blankets. "No, I can't," Spencer said, but Hotch tucked him in securely.

"I'm going to get you some ibuprofen," Hotch said. "And a trash can, in case you need to throw up. But if you get sick again, I want you to come get me, okay? No matter what."

Spencer tried to struggle out from under the blankets. "No, no, it's okay, and I can't...I can't…" he said.

Hotch made him lie back down. "I'll be right back," he said. "Don't try to get up. And you're not going to class tomorrow either, you're going to stay in bed and sleep tomorrow."

"I can go to class," Spencer mumbled. "It's Friday, I'll sleep on the weekend…"

"No class," Hotch said firmly. "Stay here."

He got up and went in search of the ibuprofen in his room, but when he came back, Spencer was already fast asleep. Hotch set the medicine down on the dresser and moved the trash can from the desk to the floor beside the bed, just in case.

He brushed Spencer's soft hair away from his forehead. The kid was definitely running a fever. Most likely he was coming down with the same stomach bug the other boys on the floor were getting. He'd try to check up on him in the morning, before he had to leave.

But for now, sleep would be the best thing for him, so he made sure Spencer was tucked in snugly and turned off the lights.

* * *

His alarm went off, but he couldn't move enough to silence it. His whole body ached like he'd be hit by a car.

But the alarm wouldn't stop screaming, the sound drilling into his temples like corkscrews, so he dragged himself out of bed, the blankets tangling around his legs, and fumbled to turn it off.

He froze. He didn't remember getting under the covers. His comforter and sheets had been another collection of gifts, and he couldn't bring himself to use them. He'd been sleeping- or staring at the ceiling when he was supposed to be asleep- on top of them instead.

In a sudden burst of horrified embarrassment he remembered. He'd woken up suddenly, overwhelmed with nausea, and he'd run down the hall to the bathroom to be sick. And he'd stayed on the cold tile floor for a few hours, huddled against the wall, lurching up to his knees every so often to vomit again.

And when he felt like his stomach was finally settling, like he could finally go back to bed, he couldn't get up. He wanted someone to pick him up and carry him back to his room, someone to put him back to bed and tell him he'd feel better soon.

But that was ludicrous. No one would do that for him. And besides, he'd been sick before, back home, and no one had coddled him then. He just needed to suck it up.

He'd pushed himself up off the floor and started back to his room, but somehow he'd found himself standing in Hotch's doorway, clinging to the wall. His chest ached. He couldn't wake him up and ask for help, he just couldn't. But maybe, just maybe, he'd wake up on his own, and maybe he'd be okay helping him.

He could remember making his own way back to bed, but he also remembered Hotch coming in after him. The rest of it was fuzzy- it must have been Hotch who tucked him into bed, and he vaguely remembered being told not to go to class. But he had to go to class. He had a full-ride scholarship to maintain. And besides, he didn't want Hotch to worry over him. He had more important things to worry about.

He made up his bed with military precision, his small hands clumsy and shaking. The idea of staying in bed and sleeping was alluring, but he forced himself to get dressed, pulling on his uniform and tying his shoelaces tightly. He could sleep during the weekend. Once he got his homework done. Maybe some cleaning too; he could make sure Derek's side of the room was done before he got back from his away game.

It was a long climb down the stairs. His stomach hurt so badly, and there were a few moments were he thought he might be sick again, but he gritted his teeth and kept walking.

The day passed by in a haze. He tried to eat breakfast- he really did, he needed something in his system- but he wasn't able to choke much down. And it was so noisy in the dining hall too, the roar of conversations and the clatter of silverware on plates. The girls kept trying to talk to him, but he couldn't stay focused long enough to answer them. He did his best, though.

He was almost late for chapel too; it was such a long trek from his classroom to the chapel across campus. It was cold outside, the trees holding on desperately to their last handfuls of leaves and the wind biting at his exposed skin. He didn't wear his coat- the coat was a gift, and he couldn't keep the gifts.

Lunch wasn't much better either, because now Dave and Emily were there, and the older kids were complaining about how it wasn't fair that James and Alex and Hotch were in the top ten percent of their grades, and they got to spend the day at the academic conference, but the two of them were stuck babysitting the younger kids.

JJ and Penelope bantered back at them, that they were lucky to be with them instead of listening to guest speakers, and Emily and Dave teased them right back, but Spencer kept poking his fork into the chicken on his plate. Why did they like the girls better than him? What made the difference? What had he done that they didn't like him anymore, that he was just a responsibility that they didn't want?

The nausea came back in full force and he set down his fork. There was no way he could eat anything.

"Spencer, are you okay?" Emily asked. "You look awful."

"Yeah," he said, nudging his plate away.

Dave frowned. "You don't look okay," he said. "Did you catch that stomach flu that's been going around? If you're not feeling well, _passerotto,_ you should go back to bed. You can miss half a day of classes."

The affectionate nickname made him want to cry. "Stomach flu isn't really a flu," he said. "It's not an influenza, it's technically gastroenteritis."

"You must be feeling okay if you can spout facts," JJ said.

"Yeah, we haven't heard any Dr. Reid trivia from you in a while," Penelope added.

They noticed. He hadn't even considered that they would notice.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He got up from the table. "I...I have homework, that I forgot, I need to...I need to get it down."

He grabbed his backpack and left, tripping over his shoes, and the second he was locked in the safety of the bathroom stall he threw up, trying to stay as quiet as he could in case somebody walked in.

* * *

"Well, I thought this was going to be a lot more exciting than it was, and I think I'm mildly disappointed," James said, sinking down in his seat on the bus.

"Yeah, I feel misled," Alex laughed as she sat down beside him and leaned into his side. "But hey, a day out of classes is a day out of classes. Plus, I have the afternoon off from the library."

Hotch sat down across from them. "They ended early," he said. "We'll get back just a little bit after sixth period ends."

"And I'm going to go right home," James said. "I already have to get up early to make the drive to St. Thaddeus, and it was honestly kind of offensive to get up even earlier to get here on time for the bus."

"Yeah, I didn't get much sleep last night," Hotch said, frowning. "Spencer woke me up at two in the morning, he was throwing up."

Alex sat up sharply. "I'm sorry, what?" she said. "You didn't tell me he was sick."

"I was running late, and then there was so much happening today," Hotch sighed. "But yeah. He was hovering in the hallway, I thought he was a dead murder child like the girl from the Ring or something."

Alex leaned across the aisle. "Was he okay?" she pressed.

"He kept insisting he was fine," Hotch said. "I put him back to bed and he went right back to sleep. I told him he needed to stay home from class today."

"This is Spencer we're talking about," Alex said. "Somehow I doubt he listened."

"Is it just me, or has he been acting strange lately?" James said. "He's been so quiet."

"Yeah, there's something up with him," Hotch said. "I'll see if I can talk to him once we get back." He hesitated. "I was going to check up on him before I left this morning, but I was running late and didn't have time. Hopefully he's okay."

Alex pushed her long hair out of her face. "Let me know if I should come by," she said. "If he's sick, you might need some help."

"You might be right," he admitted. The bus lurched into motion, and Alex settled back against James's warmth beside her. "I'll keep you updated, I guess."

* * *

Hotch made his way across campus, pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck. It was going to storm soon; at this point in the year it wouldn't be quite rain but not quite snow, just an unholy mixture that turned to slushed ice, coating the sidewalks and freezing him to the bone. At least it would be warm inside. He could take some time to change clothes, maybe doze off for a little bit before dinner. And he'd talk to Spencer.

He opened the door to Lincoln House, and walked straight into an argument.

"Spencer, you've got to calm down."

"I'm fine! Just leave me alone!"

"Why won't you let us help you?"

"I don't need any help!"

Hotch set down his backpack. "What the hell is going on?" he asked.

Penelope and JJ looked up, stricken and guilty. Spencer kept his head down. Both girls had their winter coats on over their uniforms, but Spencer shivered in his blazer. "Spencer freaked out," JJ said. "He's been acting weird all day."

"He's been acting funny for a couple of weeks," Penelope corrected.

"Just please leave me alone," Spencer begged. He backed away from Hotch. "I'm just...I'm just going to go to my room."

"Hotch, there's something wrong with him," JJ said. "You need to do something."

"I'm fine!" Spencer screamed, but he was white as paper, his cheeks flushed red. "Just...just let me go."

Hotch took him gently by the shoulders. "Take a deep breath," he said. "Can you do that for me, Spencer? Deep breath."

Spencer tried, but he could see his chest heaving with effort. "I can't," he said desperately. His mouth trembled. "I...I don't feel good."

Hotch's chest tightened with a sudden overwhelming sense of _wrong_. He'd seen Spencer have panic attacks before, especially after the goalpost, but this somehow seemed worse. He scooped Spencer into his arms, holding him easily against his chest even though he tried to push away. "I need one of you to call Alex," he said to the two wide-eyed girls. "Tell her Spencer's sick, and I need her to come over now."

"I'm not sick," Spencer mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm not."

Hotch ignored him. He was light, but seven floors was a long way to carry a kid on the verge of a meltdown. But at least Spencer didn't have the strength to really fight him, other than pulling on his coat and pleading to be put down.

He set Spencer down on the floor. "Get your key and unlock your door," he said. Spencer stumbled over his shoes, trying to make a break for it. Hotch caught him by the back of his jacket. "Come back here! Where do you think you're going?"

"I don't know," Spencer wailed. "I don't know!"

Hotch kept a firm grip on Spencer's blazer like he was holding a kitten by the scruff; with his other hand he dug through his tattered backpack. "Why are you using your old backpack?" he asked as he picked up the key. "We got you that new bag, did something happen to it?"

"No," Spencer said, his voice cracking. "I can't...I can't use it."

Hotch unlocked the door and ushered Spencer inside. "There's something going on that you're not talking about," he said as he flipped on the lights. "Spill."

"There's nothing wrong," Spencer said, hugging his arms around himself. "Please, can you...can you just go?" He looked like he was about to cry but he was afraid to, his voice wobbling and his chin trembling. "I'll be good. I will, I promise."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "You're still not making any sense."

* * *

Alex climbed up the stairs as quickly as she could, her heart beating a little too fast. She'd barely gotten to her room, just long enough to change clothes, when she got the hysterical phone call from Penelope and JJ. She had tried to keep calm, promising them that she'd be there soon and everything would be fine. But she wasn't sure if anything was fine.

The door to Spencer's room was closed, but she could hear the muffled argument anyway- Hotch's firm scolding and Spencer's high pitched shrieking. She opened the door cautiously.

"Hi," she said. "What's going on?"

They both froze and looked at her, but after the solid second of silence, Spencer doubled over and threw up, barely making it to the trash can left by his bed. "Oh, shit," Hotch said, startled. He got to Spencer, first wrapping his arms tight around his waist to keep him from falling.

Spencer tried to fight his grip. "Let me go!" he begged. "You don't have to do anything, I'll be fine!"

Alex took hold of his thin shoulders and his eyes went wide, as if he was afraid of her. "Spencer, Spencer, sh," she soothed, stroking his hair behind his ear. "What's going on?"

"He's sick, and he doesn't want us to help him," Hotch said, hauling Spencer into the middle of the room.

"Spence, why don't you want us to help you?" Alex asked. "That's what we're here for, sweetheart."

To her horror a big tear rolled down his pale cheek. "No, you're not," he said in a small voice, the tear dripping off his chin.

Hotch relaxed his grip, moving to hold onto his upper arms. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I heard!" Spencer blurted out. "I heard, I heard everything you said about me, and...and…"

"Heard what?" Alex said. "When were we talking about you?"

He raised his chin. "Two weeks ago," he said. He twisted around to look at Hotch." _None of this should be our responsibility in the first place. Why can't his parents do anything about it? We shouldn't have to take care of him._ "

Hotch looked at Alex over his head in genuine confusion. "When did I say that?" he said. "I never said anything like that."

Spencer met Alex's gaze, his big hazel eyes glassy. " _Well, you're stuck with him now, and you can't exactly just shove him off for somebody else to take care of, I guess_ ," he said.

"Spencer, we never-" Hotch started to say.

"Oh my god," Alex said. She knelt down and cupped Spencer's face in her hands. "Oh, Spencer. Baby, we weren't talking about you."

Another tear rolled down his cheek. "Who, then?" he challenged.

"Joey Turner," Alex said. "He's a sophomore, he's-"

"He's on my floor, and he's been running the risk of getting himself expelled, so Alex and I have been trying to help him," Hotch said. "Did you honestly think we would say things like that about you?"

All the fight drained out of his little body. "So...you're not tired of being responsible for me?" he whispered. "And...and you don't feel like you're stuck with me?"

"Not at all," Alex said fiercely.

Spencer's face crumpled. "And you don't hate me?"

"Not in the slightest," Hotch reassured him.

Spencer burst into tears. Hotch let go of him, his shoulders relaxing, and Alex sat down on the floor as he collapsed into her lap. He threw his arms around her neck and buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing as if his heart was broken.

Alex rocked him gently, letting him cry as he gripped the shoulders of her shirt. She caught Hotch's eye over his head; Hotch looked like he was about ready to cry himself. Alex stroked his back, waiting for his sobs to die down into soft little whimpers.

She shifted him around until he was cuddled comfortably in her arms, his forehead pressed to the crook of her neck, the way he liked to be held when she read to him or when he was sleepy. He hadn't asked her to hold him in weeks, and she hadn't quite realized how much she missed it.

Hotch sat down crosslegged on the floor. "So that's what's been bothering you?" he asked. "You thought we were mad at you?"

Spencer nodded. "It was stupid," he said in a small voice. "I...I should have thought about it more, I…"

Alex kissed the top of his head. "It doesn't matter," she said. "The most important thing is that you know that you're loved, and we take care of you because we want to."

"And right now you need to let us take care of you, because you're sick," Hotch said. "Will you let us?"

Spencer nodded. Alex pressed her hand to his forehead. "Good, because you have a fever," she said. She hoisted him to his feet; Hotch caught him with one arm and reached down to help her up. "Go brush your teeth and splash some cold water on your face, and then come right back, okay?"

He nodded, wavering on his feet, and slipped out of the room. "Fuck," Alex breathed.

Hotch sank down on the edge of Derek's bed and covered his face with his hands. "Holy shit," he groaned, half muffled. "So that's what's been going on. He seriously thought...how could he possibly think that?"

"I don't know," Alex said. "But we're going to have to do some major damage control, I think. He's so good at bottling things up and internalizing...he's going to need a lot of reassurance in order to fix this."

Hotch got up with a heavy sigh. "Sometimes I forget that we're undoing nine years of damage," he said. "I can't help but feel like...we fucked up. We set him back."

"He'll be okay," Alex said. "Besides, it's not like either of us have a lot of experience with this. We're teenagers platonically coparenting an emotionally damaged child genius."

"You're not wrong about that," Hotch admitted.

"I'll get him cleaned up and put him to bed," Alex said. "Can you run down to Penelope's room and raid her tea stash? Tell her you need to put a lot of sugar in it."

"I can do that," he said. He picked up the small trash can. "I'll take care of this too, while I'm at it."

Alex checked through Spencer's drawers, worry mounting in her chest. His clothes were gone- all the new things they'd gotten for him over the semester, all vanished. She checked the closet too, and nothing. Nothing but the handful of things he'd brought with him from Las Vegas.

On a whim she looked under the bed, and there they were- all of his neatly folded clothes, his shoes, his winter coat. Even his favorite blanket, the one they all knew he couldn't sleep without, no matter how he vehemently denied it.

"What the fuck is happening?" she mumbled to herself. She tugged out a pair of soft pajamas and his blanket and set them out on the bed, then pulled the sheets back. After a moment she turned off the overhead lights and turned on the bedside lamp. Sometimes bright lights bothered Spencer, and this was not the time for him to be stressed about small things that could be fixed.

Spencer shuffled back into the room, his flushed face scrubbed clean of tears. "Hi," he offered in a little voice, almost shy.

"Hi, darling," she said. "You look like you're about to pass out. Get your pajamas on and get into bed right now, please."

He obeyed without protest, peeling off the layers of his uniform slowly, and she handed him his pajama pants first. "Do you want to tell me why your clothes were under your bed?" she asked.

He paused. "It's...it's really stupid," he said. "It doesn't matter anymore. I'll put them back, I guess."

She handed him his soft tee shirt. "Did you think we were going to ask for them back?" she asked quietly.

He paused, and then slowly nodded, averting his eyes.

Alex tugged the hem of his shirt down, weighing her words before she spoke. "Spencer, we would never do that to you," she said. "We gave you gifts because we love you, and we care about you." She ran her fingers through his short hair, untangling his curls gently. "We've been worried about you. All of us." Spencer's chin trembled as he stared at the far wall. "We saw, you know. We noticed how quiet you've been, that you haven't been eating. I bet you haven't been sleeping much either."

He shook his head silently and pressed his fingers against his mouth; she'd been around him long enough to know his little tells. Alex tugged his hand away. "You didn't think we noticed," she guessed, and his hazel eyes welled up.

She squeezed his hand, trying to decide what she wanted to say. Over the past few months she'd been able to glean enough information to paint a sparse picture of Spencer's life before he came to St. Thaddeus. A childhood of benign neglect was still neglect, and she had a horrible, painful suspicion that this was not the first time that Spencer had tried to be as good and quiet as he could to stay safely under someone's radar.

But she stroked his hair away from his forehead, and any thoughts she had could be saved for later. "You're burning up," she said, startled by the heat radiating from his skin as she shifted her hands to touch his cheeks. "We'll talk later. Right now you need to lie down."

She helped him lie down and pulled the blankets and sheets up to his shoulders. "Hotch told me not to go to class, but I went anyway," he confessed, his eyes round.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," she said, moving pillows behind his back to keep him propped up comfortably.

The door nudged open and Hotch slipped into the room, his arms laden down. "All right, so here's what I've got," he said, setting things down on Derek's empty desk. "Penelope and JJ are making tea in the kitchen, they'll be up in a second. I texted Emily, and she's going to pick up something for you to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Spencer protested.

"You need to eat something," Hotch said, firm and no-nonsense. "I've got some gatorade and crackers for you too, but first-" He tossed a thermometer at Alex and she caught it neatly.

"Hold still and open your mouth," Alex said as she uncapped it and slipped it into Spencer's mouth. He shifted uncomfortably and she rested her hand over his, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles until the thermometer beeped.

"What are we looking at?" Hotch asked.

Alex raised an eyebrow at Spencer. "A hundred and one point four," she said.

"Jesus, Spencer," Hotch sighed.

Spencer turned to Alex, stricken. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his eyes darted from her to Hotch and back. She tapped his knee lightly. "What are you thinking, _myshka_?" she asked, switching into Russian. It was the newest language she'd been studying, and like all the new things she was learning, Spencer had begged to copy her.

"He's mad at me," Spencer said.

"He's not," Alex reassured him, resting her hand on his chest. "He's not angry, I promise. He's worried." Spencer scrunched up his face, seemingly unconvinced. "You're sick, _myshka,_ and he's worried."

"Which language is that?" Hotch asked.

"Russian," Alex said. She smiled at Spencer; he was pressing his hand to his mouth again and Alex slipped her fingers around his. "He's a fast learner."

"That's not a surprise," Hotch said. He held out a cup of neon blue gatorade with a straw in it. "JJ remembered you liked blue the best. Drink all of it."

Spencer took the cup, but his hands shook, and he couldn't quite catch the straw. Hotch reached over and guided it to his mouth, then smoothed his hand over Spencer's hair. "Take it easy, kiddo," he said.

The cup nearly slipped from Spencer's grasp and Hotch caught it. He'd gone gray around the mouth, his eyes glazed over. "Deep breaths, sweetheart," Alex coaxed. "Take a deep breath for me, okay?"

He struggled to obey, his narrow shoulders twitching with fever chills. Hotch rubbed his back firmly. "Well, I definitely think you have the stomach bug that's been going around," he said.

"Are you gonna make me go to the infirmary?" Spencer asked in a tiny voice.

"No," Alex said, at the same time Hotch said "absolutely not."

He looked from one to the other, biting at his pale lower lip. "If you can-" she started to say. She was about to say _if you can be good_ , but somehow that seemed the wrong thing to say after he'd spent two weeks making himself ill in his efforts to be silently well-behaved. "If you'll let us take care of you, you won't have to go."

"As long as you don't get worse," Hotch added. "If your fever gets too high, I'll carry you there myself, but if you get plenty of rest and stay hydrated and start feeling better, you don't have to go. That's fair, right?"

Spencer nodded, a little color coming back to his face in relief. He'd never quite explained why he was so irrationally afraid of going to the infirmary- the only time they'd taken him was after they found him at the goalpost, and he'd cried himself sick. She wished she could get him to talk about it, but she had a feeling she needed to wait until he was ready.

JJ peeked into the room, a mug cupped in both hands. "Hi, I brought a gift from Penelope," she said. "And there's enough sugar in here for a dozen cups of tea."

Alex laughed. "Perfect," she said. JJ handed the mug to Spencer; Alex moved around so she could keep close and help support the cup. He leaned back against her, his head resting on her collarbone.

"Feel better, Spence," JJ said. He smiled at her, the first genuine smile she'd seen from him in a while. Alex brushed his hair back and kissed the top of his head as JJ slipped out into the hallway.

"You know, I remember the first time I got sick when I was away at school," she said. "It was just before finals my freshman year. I got the worst cold you can imagine."

"What did you do?" Spencer asked. Alex tapped her fingertip against the cup and he obediently took another sip of his tea.

"Called my mom in tears," she said. "And David had me come over to his house where his mom could keep an eye on me. I spent a couple of days sleeping and drinking ginger ale and tea while I watched Price is Right, and I was better in time for finals."

Somehow this didn't seem to reassure Spencer. He cuddled closer to her instead, tucking himself into a smaller ball. Alex touched his forehead. "Hotch, can you get him a damp washcloth?" she asked. She pressed her cheek against Spencer's temple. "Drink your tea, and then you need to get some sleep."

His fingers had gone slack; she rescued the mug and set it on the nightstand before he could spill its contents. "Would it be okay...if you stayed with me?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "Of course I'll stay."

She picked up his favorite blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it around him. He gripped it tight, his cheek rubbing absently against her shoulder. "You'll be okay," she reassured him. "I promise. You'll feel better soon, and I'll stay here as long as you need me."

By the time Hotch came back, Spencer had dozed off, but he still clutched the shoulder of her shirt in a death grip. "Well, he's out like a light," Hotch whispered, draping the washcloth over his hot forehead. Alex adjusted it and smoothed his blanket around him. "Good. He needs it. And stop fussing, he'll be fine."

"I know," Alex said. "It's just a stomach bug, he'll be okay in a few days."

Hotch folded his arms. "You're not going to put him down, are you?" he asked.

"Not a chance."

She didn't let go of him even though her arms began to prickle; Hotch sat down silently beside her and rested his hand on Spencer's thin knee. The only sound was Spencer's steady breathing, and Alex let him sleep in her arms, letting him feel safe.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a short cuddly thing! it's eight thousand words! what's wrong with me??
> 
> lots of love to Faby and Maeve for encouraging me while I wrote this!!
> 
> Alex calls Spencer "myshka," which means "little mouse." I really want Alex to have a special nickname that only she calls Spencer; I think it works for this fic, but let me know if you have a better idea! I truly live for Alex and Hotch as teenage platonic coparents raising a small genius baby. (this fic's working title was "little disaster baby," actually)
> 
> come hang out with me on tumblr if you'd like! I'm themetaphorgirl over there!


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